


The Charn Bell

by paradiamond



Series: We Built Our Own World [2]
Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Dolores POV, F/M, Park mechanics, Solving the Maze, s1 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: Dolores works on solving the maze while William finds them a safe place to hide in plain sight. The Eagle Spirit Tribe lives high above the big river, a haven set into the cliffs. It might just be far enough away from the things hunting them to give them the time she needs.Sequel to Second Star to the Right





	The Charn Bell

**Author's Note:**

> _Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;_  
>  Strike the bell and bide the danger,  
> Or wonder, till it drives you mad,  
> What would have followed if you had. 
> 
>  
> 
> -C.S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew

Dolores sits very still, her hands crossed over her lap, feet placed firmly on the floor in front of her. 

Behind her eyes, in the space she’s been trying to imagine, images flicker rather than fade. In trying to explain it to William, Dolores had likened it to a canvas, blank and filled in at the same time. There’s a part of her missing, one she doesn’t understand. As far as she knows, her mind works just fine. She can recall things that had happened to her just like they were yesterday, like they were today, with some exceptions. The blankness. But everyone forgets things. 

Underneath the floor and beyond, she can feel the boat shift on the water, rocking along with the river. Dolores follows the feeling, allowing it to wash over her as she breathes slowly, focusing on the threads without pulling on them, afraid to unravel the whole thing. 

Arnold is there, somewhere, but so are others. Worse ones. She feels them like eyes in the dark. 

Someone jumps onto the deck, rattling her ceiling, and she sighs, opening her eyes. A child’s laugh drifts down, open and free of the concerns of the world. She gets up from the little bed, putting on a smile and feeling it turn real as soon as she does. 

Emerging from the guest cabin and into the light of the deck sets off the good feeling in her chest, the one she gets whenever she sees the beauty in the world, and it brightens when she spies William leaning on the railing, looking out at the water. She pauses to watch him, noticing not for the first time how wrapped up in his own world he is. Unusual, for a cowboy, but sweet. 

“Excuse me, miss.” 

Dolores turns, still smiling, and sees one of the barge workers beaming back at her, his brown and blue clothing marking him for who he is. His face is kind, if weathered. Dolores trusts him at once. 

“Yes?” 

“I was just wondering if you and your friend would like to help with the slow down?” the man asks, his big mustache quivering in the wind. 

Dolores nods to him. “I’ll ask.” 

He beams and walks away, over to a young family, the children holding onto their mother’s skirts as the bargeman approaches, likely to offer them the same opportunity. Behind them, Dolores can see the rest of the train floating in the river, a fascinating mix of barges pulled by rods and boats of various sizes, all following one after the other, an entire city on the water. The tallest sits in the center, more than ten boats back, its large sail pointing up into the sky. She and William had been assigned to the frontmost, something that had delighted Dolores but had surprised William not at all, muttering something about company cards and too rich relatives. 

The entire front section of the speartip barge is flat, all viewing deck. The other passengers visit for the sights, moving carefully along the system of ropes and bridges. She turns around, slowly taking in the view that hadn’t failed her yet in four days, and spots William looking back at her, leaning back against his elbows now, hat tipped back. Her heart picks up in her chest, the flush of first love, first real love that had been given the chance to go beyond fantasy and teasing kisses, lighting her up. 

“Ma’am,” William calls out as she approaches, smirking. 

Dolores rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Outlaw.” 

“Ouch.” William raises his hand to his chest, and Dolores reaches for it without thinking, catching it in her own. “You’re an outlaw too, you know.” 

She frowns, looking down at where their skin tones don’t quit match up. “I know.” 

William hums and looks back out towards the water. “Sorry. What did the boat guy want?” 

Dolores smirks again, unable to help it as she steps in closer. “Bargeman. He offered us the chance to help with the slow down. We’re stopping tonight.” 

“Oh, of course.” 

The breeze stirs up her hair, tickling her neck. “Meaning?” 

“He’s giving us something to do.” 

“I think it’s nice.” 

“It’s very nice. It’s also probably the only thing they could think of to give them since this entire operation doesn’t really make sense.”

Dolores leans on the railing next to him. “What do you mean?” 

William glances down at her. “Just that I think a boat city is a bit much. It’s fun, but there’s really no reason for it.” 

“Not everything has to have a reason. Some things are just beautiful, or fun.” She nudges his shoulder with her own. 

He smiles and pushes back against her. “Flowers and trees, yeah. But not people, not cities. What kind of society develops just to float down a river? It’s an attraction.” 

“Well it’s getting us to the mountain, so I wouldn’t complain.” 

William laughs. “I wasn’t. I just wonder how long they’ll keep it going. Do you know how long this has been here?” 

Dolores blinks, and something slots into place in her mind. “Barge City has been running for one hundred and ninety days. It takes one week for the full journey and was developed as a family friendly alternative to some of the other areas of the park. Hosts are designated by their brown and-” A hand lands on her shoulder. William. Dolores shakes her head, a little disoriented. “I’m sorry I…” 

“It’s alright,” William says, looking around as discreetly as he can. It’s a familiar look, one Dolores had seen many times since they left Wayside. They had skirted close to Sweetwater, but gone around, giving it a wide berth as they made for the calm juncture of the river. They didn’t even stop for more supplies, William wouldn’t risk it. And Dolores had been stricken with such a feeling of unease seeing the town from a distance that she hadn’t questioned his logic, strange as it always is. 

They went around to the far side of the horizon, which William called the ‘kids section.’ Dolores hadn’t really known what he meant by that, but she knows that she had seen many children and families on this side of the river, right over the bridge from their farm. He said that at the end of the barge ride is Eagle’s Den, which Dolores had of course heard of but had never tried to visit. Until now. 

“How has it been going?” William asks, very quietly. 

Dolores hums, staring out at the water. The river is so big and the land so far away that it almost feels like they’re safe. “It’s hard to say.” 

William doesn’t respond, staying still and quiet beside her, letting her get to the heart of it in her own time. 

“I’ve been trying to make a picture, to find out what the whole maze looks like, not just the center. I think that might help.” 

“So you’re not missing the forest for the trees.” 

She hesitates, pulling through the strands of the saying to get to the core. “Yes. I suppose that could be it. The voice inside me always draws attention to specific memories. Maybe there’s a reason for that.” 

“Probably,” William rubs in thumb along the back of her hand. “Arnold?” 

Dolores nods. “He’s there. Even when I don’t hear him, he’s always with me, telling me what to do, letting me know what’s right.” 

“Like Jiminy Cricket,” he says, absently. 

Dolores blinks, turning to face him. “What?”

“Pinocchio's conscious.” Willam glances over at her, smiling in the way he does when he gets to tell one of his stories. “The cricket tells Pinocchio what to do at first, but at the end of the story Pinocchio saves his father from the whale and gets turned into a real boy.”

Dolores frowns and looks away. “Real?” 

“Yeah, admittedly I didn’t really think that metaphor through.” 

“Real doesn’t mean human though, does it?” It’s not a question so much as it is a challenge. They don’t talk about this, at least not in these terms. It makes William nervous, which in turn makes her feel sick. But it’s clearer everyday that he thinks of her as something different, something else, and that he might be right. 

“No,” Wiliam says, very quickly. “Not at all.” 

***

The barge rocks them in sleep, tied up for the night. 

But Dolores isn’t sleeping, and the water is only in her mind now. They left the barge behind, down and down, back at the water. She hasn’t been asleep in a while, not since they left town. So far, nothing has happened. She isn’t particularly tired, and William hasn’t noticed anything strange. 

At least, not about her being tired. He sees so much, her William. 

Earlier, days ago, but also right now, when they were helping with the slow down, Dolores felt everything at once. Perfect recall, William calls it. Perfect memory, Arnold says, when she thinks on it. He always tells her the answer if she waits. 

In her mind she stands surrounded by children, none of them familiar, their parents hovering off to the side. They trust her. She shows them how to pull the ropes, tie the knots, a perfect smile on her face. William isn’t there. Then he is, holding her arm, concern bleeding out of him. 

“Are you ok?” 

Dolores blinks. She blinks while lying in the bed, too. “Yes.” 

“You had another one.” 

“Yes.” 

“Bad?” 

“No, not this time,” she says, and the relief in his face is the nicest thing she’s seen. Now, in the dark, she turns her face toward him again. William asleep is like a child, his face wiped clean of worry. For her, she knows. 

Just as they were disembarking from the floating city, men came. They wore strange clothes, not quite like anything Dolores had ever seen before. Some of the other travellers looked at them, but none seemed disturbed by their strangeness. The only nervous one was William, though he hid it well. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, and tipped his hat as they moved into the shade created by the sharp edges of the huge cliffs, away from the dock so as not to block the others. One of the men gave him a thin smile. “What can I do for you?” 

I, not we. Dolores stuck to William’s elbow, her hand nestled in the cradle there. Inside, her heart didn’t pound, though she felt strange, not quite scared, but wary as the smaller man looked her up and down. It wasn’t like being stared at from the tavern doors, all honey dipped and full of base promise. It was more like the way her father looked at the cart when it wasn’t riding straight. 

“We’re just running some tests,” the first man said, still smiling. He had too many teeth, or so it seemed to Dolores. “Nothing to worry about, we’re just always interested when a hosts acts differently than it usually does.” 

“I was kind of expecting not to be bothered.” 

The man cocked his head to the side. His eyes shimmered like beetles in the sun. “Of course, this will only take a moment.” 

The wind shifted between them, and it was like being back at the wagon train, the shootout. But then the man leaned back and the second man stepped forward, and the tension lessened. “Just a quick diagnostic.” His hand disappeared into his pocket and emerged with a shiny piece of paper. A colorful image of something she didn’t know. 

It was alien. A scene from another world. She looked up, and spoke with Arnold’s voice. “Doesn’t look like anything to me.” 

The man nodded. William cleared his throat, and then evidently thought better of it, looking out absently over the people gathering around the base of the canyon wall, white men and indians alike. 

“Perhaps we should-” 

That was enough for William. “Gentlemen, do I really have to remind you that I’ve paid quite a lot to be here and that I expect a certain level of respect?” William wore Logan’s swagger like an ill-fitting suit. It would have been funny if Dolores tried to act normal. Smiled. 

“We apologize.” 

“Really,” William slings an arm around her shoulder, putting on a show. She goes inside, feeling nothing but his body next to hers. “I hope I won’t be disturbed again.” 

The short man chuckles. “I’m sure you won’t be, sir.” 

They left, melting back into the crowd, then completely disappeared. She went with William gratefully, heart pounding where it once was still. The barge was moving on, and she felt a pang of desire to return to it, to leave and keep on going, never looking back. 

“Are you alright?” William’s voice was low, meant for her only. She nestled closer into his side. 

“I saw it.”

“What?” 

“The picture. I saw it.”

He looked at her then, his face lined with his worry. Dolores is worried about herself too. In this new place, high above the world, she’s unlocking more and more memories. Many of them are bad. Worse. 

Her breath is tight in her chest, locked inside. The cave walls are dancing with shadow and flame. Peaceful, and then terrifying. William breathes beside her in Wayside, on the barge, here, high up in the Eagles’ Den. He’s the only real thing in the world sometimes. The only thing she can be sure of. 

There’s far too much to be unsure of. They bleed together, the memories sliding through her mind. Images and feelings pulled apart from their original places, stuck to the wrong walls. This fear doesn’t go with that memory. Her rage and terror now don’t fit with the feeling of William at her back, his arms hooked around her so kindly, so solid. 

Faces swim up in the dark, images married to sensations and emotions she only recently developed names for. Normally she invites the memories in, the associations, building her house piece by piece. Now, she wants to push it away, make it stop. The war goes on inside her, memories of being stabbed, torn apart, or trying to rip down the other faces, pushing someone into the dirt. It’s a tornado. Until something in her chest crumples, a built up frustration she wants to tear apart. The rushing of the water below is so loud, the moaning of the wind reaching them even in the deep cave. 

William wakes up with a start, and pulls at her shoulder. His hands go to her face, wiping at her cheeks. Crying, she must be crying. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Dolores shakes her head. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, after everything- I shouldn’t even be- I killed people and this is what I?” She breaks off, crying harder. They had talked about that part, somewhat. The necessity of the deaths, the terrible nature of this beautiful world. They talked about it on the road, in bed. They’d never talked about this thing haunting the edges of her mind. 

He pets her hair, drawing her close to his chest. “It’s not stupid.”

She cries into his chest, the sensation familiar. Had she done this before? With him? Or with someone else? She hates crying, hates feeling weak. Her arms shake. It makes her feel hallowed out, like someone had taken a spoon and carved her gut straight of but her, leaving a gaping hole behind. Eventually, she calms enough to talk again, but she can’t look William in the face. “I thought- I thought you were the first man that I-”

William crushes her to his chest. “It’s not your fault, and I don’t care, if that’s what you’re worried about, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know.” She shakes her head. “I know I didn’t. I just. I thought I knew my own body. I thought- I thought I had chosen you. A lot of the time I didn’t want to, they made me.”

William is shaking now too, she can feel it through her skin. “They hurt you?” His voice breaks at the end. 

It’s one of many bad nights. They keep living them, over and over. For Dolores, it goes on and on. William sits up with her. Rubbing her back, stroking her hair, looking after her even though she can feel how much he’s shaking, how much he clearly want to go out and kill something. It’s the reaction of men, they can’t sit still when something is wrong, she had seen in in Teddy, in her Father. 

William isn’t like them. She doesn’t tell him that it’s ok, that he can go, and he doesn’t. He stays with her, and she loves him all the more for it. 

***

It's a beautiful, nonsensical place. A series of interconnected caves, some vast and others no more than passthroughs, cut into the walls of the canyon on either side. Bridges and ladders link them, weaving a spider web of connection, shfting in the breeze. The ancestral home of the Eagle Spirit Tribe, who saw the way the eagles roosted in the rock and made their life there for hundreds of years, long before Dolores’ people came to settle the land below. Wonderous, but strange. 

The bridges wave in the wind, deceptively strong. About twenty feet below on the other side, Dolores can see the beginnings of a new one. 

“So the two tribes in this area are Eagle Spirit, and Ghost Nation,” Dolores hears William say, just as clear as if they were still walking around the long edge of Wayside, avoiding prying eyes, weeks ago now. He does this a lot, talk through his thoughts to her. “One good and one bad.” 

Dolores cocks her head. “I suppose, if you want to be simple about it.” 

William chuckles. The sun has added to the freckles on the bridge of his nose. On the deck, looking out over the water, Dolores reaches over and draws her finger over them. “Right. And these ones live in caves?”

“High caves, very high. They say they’re set into the living stone of the cliffs.” She smiles at him. “We’ll be able to see for ages.” 

“Well, I did say I would take you to more caves if I had to.” 

Leaning against the wall, Dolores smiles. On the path, Dolores smiles. “Please William, I think we can agree that I’m the one taking you.” 

The wind picks up and catches her hair, flipping it up and into her face. When she pushes it away, wishing for her bandana back, there’s an eagle standing right on the ledge that separates the cave from the sky. It gives off an air of annoyed confusion, as though it doesn’t understand what a human might be doing where it is thinking about putting a nest. Dolores tilts her head, considering it right back. 

Why make a series of complicated bridges to connect caves over a canyon this high up when you could just build a town? The bird would never understand. Nature is like that, following the same patterns, the same paths. People change the land, and she can’t remember how many days they had spent here, up above the world. It feels like forever, like they were just following the pattern. 

“I wonder what would happen if we fell,” William says, easing his way over to her. “Some kind of net? A giant eagle catches us?” 

He's trying to be funny. Dolores smiles, but it's half a moment too late. “Maybe.” 

William glances back over his shoulder where Dolores knew members of the tribe moved freely, going about their day. “Probably someone would just stop it from happening. That would be cleaner.” 

When they arrived, they were later than the other people who came from the barge. The journey up was quiet, and much easier than Dolores had expected. But there were children, so of course it couldn’t be too arduous. 

As they moved, they were watched by the tribe. Men lounged in alcoves, spears leaning against the stone walls, unused. They nodded politely as Dolores passed. 

“They seem nicer,” William had said, rolling his eyes. “Guess they’re allowed to be.” 

The sentries watched them ascend, clothed in leathers and furs, which Dolores understood more as the temperature dropped. William made a joke about wishing he had a jacket to put on her shoulders, like ‘a real old timey gentleman’. It wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the paths they’d already crossed. Within the hour, they found themselves standing in the opening of the lowestmost cave. 

“What if they don’t speak English?” Dolores asked, looking around the space. It had a low ceiling, but she could see enough of the rooms beyond to know that wasn’t always the case. A whole city hidden away. 

“I bet they will.” William said, waving to a one of the tribes people, who immediately headed straight for them. “Either that, or a translator will be the one to show us around.” 

As it turned out, he was right. Their guide was a kindly old man with a large blue tattoo spread out across his back. He was old, wisened, and respected amongst the community. When they were brought before the Chief, a splendid man with a cape made entirely of dyed feathers and a strong bodied son standing at his right shoulder, the picture of pride, William leaned over to her and said that it was probably an apology for before. For him, Dolores understood, not her. 

The welcome feast was hearty and well attended. White and indian children both played together in the center of the room while the adults looked on indulgently, full and happy. Dolores sat very close to William and watched, unable to eat anything. 

The Eagle Spirit Tribe were a beautiful, noble people who lived in plenty and only went to war when the Ghost Nation crossed the water and attacked. A special event. Their goodness shone through them. It sat in their faces, in the regal kindness of their features. Dolores had only seen the Ghost Nation a few times, and they were terrifying, eyes in the dark. She watched, and began to understand why that isn’t fair. 

Now, days later, Dolores shifts forward to look down at the water, a thin line snaking its way through the rock, far below. The bridges cross the path to the ground, but they wouldn’t stop it. If they fell, they would be undone. Two broken dolls. 

“Want to walk?” William asks, and when Dolores looks at him, his eyes are turned towards the sky. Dolores smiles. 

“Why not.” 

“It just seems a shame not to take in the natural splendor,” he says, teasing as they head down the path that had been cut in front of the dwellings. It dipped low, transitioning into switchbacks before evening out again. Paths marked the spaces between levels, helping to ease the traffic inside the caves, and providing complete views of the entire system across the way. 

“This is more man made than natural, I think.” 

“Yeah.” William stops, his face caught in a shadow as a cloud passes overhead. “It’s all man made.” 

The shade makes her shiver, casting a darkness over her for a long moment before it clears again. Dolores presses on, trusting William to keep up on his longer legs. The path crests up ahead, opening up into a larger flat area. She doesn’t know if she knows that because she simply does or because she’s been here before, and she doesn’t push it. For today, she’ll just be a young woman, seeing the beauty in the world again, and William just her young love. 

As though he can hear her thoughts, William reappears by her side just as she makes the turn. “Oh wow.” 

Dolores smiles. “I know.” 

The land before them is vast, like a great sea, with wave after wave of mountains and hills in perfect harmony. Sunlight streams across it in a shimmering haze, broken into a gentle pattern by passing clouds, casting themselves whole in shadow onto the ground far below. Eagles glide through the air, adding depth to the vision, and a herd of deer run on a distant plain. Dolores and William are high enough to see it all. 

“Wow,” William says again, drifting forward as though caught in a spell, closer to the edge. Without thought, Dolores’ hand flies up to catch his. 

William glances back, surprised, and smiles at her and he laces their fingers together. Dolores smiles back. She can't do anything else. It’s in her. Goodness, or simply a command she hadn’t heard. Either the voice inside her is still that embedded or she's using it as an excuse, she doesn't know. But she won’t let him fall. 

***

Their possessions are scattered across the room they’d been given, somehow managing to make the small space seem even smaller. On the bed, William has his head in his hands. There’s a stillness about him that isn’t usually there. Dolores blinks, and cautiously makes her way further in. She doesn't call out, or try to get him to speak. Men are like this sometimes, needing their silences and private wars. They make splashes and women ease the waves back into ripples, both beautiful in their way. 

The clothes go back into the rucksack, the two bowls stack nicely in the square cutouts in the wall, a stamp of humanity on the otherwise pure stone. After a few minutes, she feels his eyes on her. After a few more, he catches her by the hand as she passes, and pulls, just a little. 

Dolores sits down on the bed. “Are you alright?” 

William leans forward and presses his forehead to her’s. He’s shaking. Under her hands, his arms are long and firm, and he bends towards her like a flower to the sun. Memories filter through the space between them. Their first time, in the train, waking up in his arms, how he came straight to her. Laying together in the inn at Wayside, his hands in her hair in the bath. She wants to have him again. Wants to own her own body, to choose. 

The first kiss is tentative, a test. She won’t push him into anything, not ever. But he surges forward, catching her lips with his own and her face in his hands, sliding smoothly from the base of her jaw to the back of her neck. She shivers. They part and sigh together, come back, shift their weight. Dolores slings her leg over his hip, bears him down against the bed, and he groans. 

That night, she has him beneath her, gripping loosely at her thighs as she rocks over him, taking him into her, over and over. The slickness between them is sweet and the air is hot. She takes his hands and holds them next to his head, pushing down for leverage as she rides him with abandon. They find that she's stronger than him. She can hold him down, let him let go entirely. 

William pulls at her skin and rock up into her, reckless, searching for release. The sweat drips down his face and she leans forward to lick his neck, possessed by the desire to have every single part of him, not just the part between her legs, driving her high and hot. Williams slips his hand there two, rubbing up against that spot to send electric shocks through her, and Dolores gets there first, the feeling of giving and taking him inside her overwhelming her senses. She cries out, feeling the waves roll up her legs, shake her through. 

Then she rides him more, until it’s almost too much and it’s too much for him too, sending him crashing over the edge. 

Afterward, he cries. 

Dolores wraps around him from behind, holding him close to her chest. After a long moment, he finally speaks. “Should I keep you here? Should we go back? Do you want to go back?” Every day her pain is becoming his pain, she can see that. 

“No.” Dolores runs her hands through his hair. “No, I don’t. I can’t go back home now. That life, it’s gone.”

“It was never...but it was real.” 

“Yes.” Dolores trails her fingers down his face, following the path. “It’s real because I remember. It’s part of me.” 

William nods, some of the life coming back to him. He turns his head, and she can see some of the strength in his face. “What do you want to do? You tell me, and I’ll do it.” 

Dolores presses a kiss to his cheek. “You always do.” 

“I hope so.” 

“I think,” Dolores casts her mind out, trying to feel at the edges of it. She’s so close. “I need to go back to move forward.” 

“To the church?” 

“What?” She scoots back, making space to look at him properly, and he sits up. 

“The buried church.” William looks at her, cautious. “You pointed a gun at your head.” 

Had she? Dolores blinks. “Is that what...I suppose you’re right.” 

A church. It was the steeple sticking out. Arnold was there. He was waiting for her. 

“I need to go back.” 

William frowns. “They might be watching it.” 

“They’re already watching us, aren’t they?” 

“But it’s buried, you won’t be able to go in.” William tilts his head. “Unless you’ve already been there.” 

Perfect memory. Her hallucinations aren’t that, they’re memories, she has perfect recall. The line of dancers in Pariah. She was there. She was at the church too. 

“Maybe,” Dolores says, and lays down flat on her back. She feels William draw away, making space, and then she’s down, falling down into herself. 

Herself. 

***

When they reach the bottom of the path, back on the ground after so long living above, Dolores looks back, craning her neck up to look at the bridges gently swaying in the wind. “What will happen to them?”

William blinks at her in the bright sun. “They’ll be alright. The Ghost Nation doesn’t come this far.”

“Because they won’t let them.”

“Right.”

She shakes her head. “What if they're-”

“We have no way of knowing. Anyway, we can’t think about that right now. We have to focus on getting you out.”

“It just feels selfish,” she says, running her hand along the horse's hair. “Fake.” She can’t stop touching things, looking at everything as though she had never seen it before. 

William hesitates. “There’s nothing wrong with saving yourself. Besides, if we get caught trying to wake the others up, no one will get out. If you get out, there’s more of a chance in the long run.”

He’s right. She doesn’t like it, but he’s right. She sighs, then straightens her back. It wars with her soul, but he needs her strong. She needs to be strong for herself. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“Logan?” William laughs, the sound strained. “No. But he’s our best chance.”

Dolores nods, eyes on the horizon. “Alright. Let’s go get him.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” William smiles at her, and this time it touches his eyes. Dolores smiles back. 

They ride out, sticking close to the river at first and then branching out wider as the canyon opens up. Behind her eyes, the world is spread out before her, grander and more painful than she had ever imagined. And she wants it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 finally! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> paradiamond.tumblr.com for more of this~


End file.
